


Elemental   Secrets

by noblenymphadora



Category: Agent Carter - Fandom, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, F/F, Female Relationships, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, peggynat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblenymphadora/pseuds/noblenymphadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love may be for children, but in the middle of post-war New York, keeping a killer secret is hard when the organisation tracking you down has a lead operative like Peggy Carter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of Peggy and Nat intrigues me so much and I cannot resist writing about them, so here we are.
> 
> I'm a really slow writer so don't expect updates too quickly, but they'll happen as often as I can. Sorry about that but I hope they'll be worth it?

Cold, lifeless, heartless. White brick walls climb up as far as the eye can see to meet with a similarly white ceiling, staring down onto the the thin linoleum flooring laid in cruel concrete grey.  
A flash of scarlet, a charge of electric, a slash of a knife, a solemn thud; then finally the chink of a blade dropping to the ground echoes ominously. The white-washed walls now splattered with a telltale spray of blood. As swift as the wind, a black blur shoots out of the room with lethal efficiency. Seemingly impossible.

 

Almost 5000 miles across the globe, in New York City, a dull, imposing building looks derelict to any unbeknownst onlooker, but on the inside it's a hive of activity like no other.  
Cold monochrome floor tiles are the only cold thing about this base; except maybe a temper or two at times; with rich wooden furniture and warm but slightly limp window drapes, this office looks almost homely; in a strange sort of way.  
"We've got another kill, gentlemen!" A stocky, moustachioed man with an unnerving smile calls out from his office, "Where's Agent Carter?"  
A murmur fluctuates around the office amongst the men at their desks.  
"She's probably off powdering her nose or something else just as frivolous." A tall and handsome Agent Thompson seethes, with his large hands running through his blonde hair.  
"Hey hey Jack, what if I broke your nose? How would you feel about me then?" Peggy Carter hums from the doorway, tapping her scarlet-glossed fingernails on the window pane.  
"You couldn't even if you tried, Miss Carter." He retorts with a roll of his piercing blue eyes.  
"That's AGENT to you, Thompson!" the moustachioed gentleman spits with a surprising air of discontent.  
"Thank you for that Dooley, but I can in fact take care of myself!" Peggy almost laughs sarcastically, smiling through her rouged lips as she finishes securing her hair into place with a final bobby pin.  
"Anyway guys... and you too Carter, we've got another kill just outside Moscow." Dooley explains, addressing them as a group now, "Apparently there's no evidence save for the victims blood splatter and also a blade discarded just away from the body."  
"Well our killer is clearly getting careless, sir." Thompson chirps up with mocking amusement in his voice.  
"Oh yes of course, because a blade from a knife is so incredibly easy to track to its owner, Jack." A seemingly quiet gentleman who goes by the name of Sousa adds dismissively, rousing another smirk off Agent Carter that she quickly hides.  
"Anyway, we've got no way to track down this son of a bitch but they can't escape our grasp forever." Dooley concludes as he slinks back into his office without another word on the matter or otherwise.  
The sway in Peggy's hips as they're hugged by her tight, A-line skirt draws Agent Thompson's prying eyes towards them as she walks over to the office. This doesn't go unnoticed by Peggy but she has more self-respect than to let him irk her further so she simply grits her teeth and continues on.  
"Sir, is there any way I could look at all of the files on these similar cases, sir?" Peggy is as polite as ever as she asks Dooley this and he simply sighs disheartened, so she regretfully adds, "For... aiding administrative purposes only, of course."  
"Thompson and Hutchins are flying out to Moscow in the morning and whilst I appreciate you want to help, we have next to no evidence for you to look over anyway, Carter." Roger Dooley replies, with a slightly out of character anger in his voice.  
"Well if it's okay with you I'd like to look anyway, you never know, we might have missed something before in our haste." She smiles sweetly, it's sickening for her to do but she's willing to do it if it'll help her get a look at this case right now.  
"Fine Carter, fine! You know where everything is, just don't make evidence where there is none. Okay? It's not your place after all." He ensures that she nods her agreement before turning his back on her.

 

A mahogany desk, usually neatly covered in papers, several pens and pencils and a typewriter is now strewn with files on their mysterious Russian assassin. Peggy flicks through reems of scrawled notes and typewritten papers and poorly shot photographs. As she glances over a photo for a fleeting moment something catches her eye; what looks like a small burn mark on the shoulder of the most recent victim. Furrowing her neatly plucked brows, Peggy picks up another file, that of what they identified to be the Russian assassins first known victim. Carefully ensuring not to muddle up the contents of the files, she takes out the full body shot of this man and looks straight to his shoulder. There it is, a small round burn mark on his left shoulder. As she looks at the next she sees it again.  
"So that's how they're being killed, the neck is just showmanship; just to make totally sure they're dead." Peggy says aloud to an empty office. She rearranges the papers back into their appropriate files and stacks them to one side. Turning her head now to face a small photo frame claiming pride of place on her desk, "What would these guys do without me? Glorified secretary my arse!" She hisses, somewhere between anger and amusement, even she doesn't know what she is feeling. Peggy reaches out and carefully touches a slender finger to the glass of the photo frame where a small black and white photo sits.  
"You'd show them what's what, Steve." She finally whispers. The small photo is of Steve Rogers, the departed man known to so many as Captain America, but known to Peggy as so much more. He still holds a firm place in Peggy's heart, but most of all he's her motivation when the guys she has the misfortune to work with don't think she's good enough.  
With a nonchalant smile to the photo she picks up her things, throws on her coat and tries to quiet the click of her heels as she walks across the tiles.

 

9pm EST, in a small automat cafeteria about 10 minutes from the cold SSR base, now sits a pensive Peggy Carter. Sitting waiting for Angie to get off shift in this peculiar café is one of the calmest and most constant things Peggy ever does. Between the SSR and Howard Stark's various shenanigans, Peggy's life is never quiet, but the time she sits and watches bustling diners insert nickels into machines and be repaid with strange looking wax-wrapped meals is her quiet time; it's her time to think.  
"Hey sweetie!" Angie calls as she sits down dramatically opposite Peggy and shakes her chestnut hair down as she takes out its final pin. Her perfume makes its way directly to Peggy's nostrils rather overwhelmingly.  
"You smell like a salon, Ang. Who are you impressing?" Peggy asks with her first genuine smile of the day.  
"Hopefully I'm impressing everyone, my sweet... but I was supposed to have an audition and then the assholes go tell me they've already chosen their girl." Angie huffs in frustration, fiddling with the collar of her cotton blouse.  
"They don't know what they're missing, you're great Ang, you really are." Peggy reaches over the table and clutches her friend's shoulder reassuringly, with a smile.  
"You wouldn't lie to me Carter, would ya now?" Angie stares wide eyed at her friend across the way, with a slight smirk dancing on her lips.  
"You know I'm a dreadful liar," Peggy almost whispers, lying as she speaks.  
"Why d'you bother Peg? You know I've got ya sussed." comes the waitress' reply mockingly.  
"I'm not meant to tell people things about what we do at work, it's a secret, you know that!" she replies rather too defensively and then immediately feels a wave of regret wash over her. "I wouldn't lie to you Ang, not unless I absolutely had to... I promise."  
"I take your promises very seriously lil miss secret agent, so ya better keep that." Angie smirks as she fiddles with a strand of dark hair and forces it to stay behind her ear and out of her face.  
"I'll do my best my dear, I really will." Peggy responds followed by her sincerest of smiles.

 

A mere two days later a big wig banker type sits tied to a chair in a dark, grimy warehouse trying to wriggle his way out of his ropes with little success. A knife held to his throat doesn't quell his squirming. 'This guy's got guts' thinks the assassin with a mixture of amusement and boredom. Nobody likes prey who put up a fight. A buzz of electricity finally stops the man who had given up no information whatsoever. Stops him... dead. With a slash of the knife, blood spurts from his neck and the assassin is gone... 

 

"Sousa, Carter, we've got a suspicious death out in the centre of town. Reports say it's hostile. Watch each other's backs at all times." Dooley crows from his desk, "And Carter, you touch nothing and you speak to no one, you're just there to observe the scene." and he barely even waits for a response before going back to his work.  
With Thompson and Hutchins on their way back from Russia after what seems to Peggy like the biggest waste of resources she's ever witnessed, she is regretfully being allowed out into the field for what must be the first time since she was appointed to the SSR.  
"Come on Carter, before he changes his mind." Daniel laughs, noticing only now that his partner was already stood propping the office door open waiting for him. "No flies on you, is there?"  
"Indeed there isn't Agent Sousa." she smirks kindly, he being the only SSR agent she holds a vague amount of respect for and by far the only one she could trust if she needed to.  
The quiet car journey with Daniel in the driving seat leads to a not so quiet crime scene in the centre of town.  
"I don't understand why we're here, surely the general force can handle a suspicious death themselves." Daniel mutters, almost to himself as they walk up to the police tape where a few people are gathered.  
"It all depends why they're calling it suspicious." Peggy replies just as quietly as the statement had been made, and is met with a "Hmm" from her partner as they approach the warehouse.  
"A few... undesirables called it in this morning when they came here to score some drugs and found a lot more than they were banking on." A seemingly mild mannered police officer informed them, although he did direct all this information towards Agent Sousa but Peggy gives him leeway on that this one time, especially seeing she isn't supposed to speak. They're led into the dingy room where Peggy's eyes are immediately drawn to the chair in the centre, toppled over, with a mans lolling body lying there. Teamwork forgotten, and the fact she is just to observe, she darts straight over and kneels down on the cold concrete and then stands straight back up and tugs at her skirt.  
"Have the crime scene photos been taken?" She asks sharply, wanting to get straight down to this.  
"Yes, yes course they were." replies their mild mannered cop.  
"Okay then, well can we stand this gentleman back up on his chair so we can take a proper look?" This is much less a question and much more an order.  
"Yes, we wanted to wait until your team arrived before moving him... and he ain't no gentleman." was the reply she received. A little confused by this, Peggy beckons Sousa over to assist her in standing up the deceased to a more suitable position.  
In Peggy's head she checks for time of death because, of course, she has grown to gain a slight knowledge in that area. 'Lividity still present along the right hand side of his body where he's been over turned. Putting time of death anywhere in the last 12 hours.' Agent Carter begins gesturing at the purple-ish discolouration to the deceased's face then remembers she isn't speaking.  
"That slash of the neck is terribly like our Russian assassin, Peggy." Daniel whispers, leaning in so the others don't hear this comparison. This is simply met with closed eyes and a sigh as she whispers, "How? Why would they be here? Why now?" before she goes over to the body again. Whilst she's stood there, Peggy almost smirks to herself about the perfect timing of this situation, as Stark has assigned her to keep covert tabs on this assassin and feed back to him anything she discovers yet it's incredibly difficult to do so when she's stuck in the office every day. "Time of death was in the last 12 hours, gentlemen." she finally adds, almost too confidently.  
"In that time, who could have gained access to this facility?" Agent Sousa asks the police officers present, keeping one eye on Peggy the whole time to make sure she doesn't get embroiled in some sort of drama or other.  
"The security is atrocious, practically non existent, so I really can't help you on this one. Basically anyone or anything could have been through here in the last 12 hours."  
"Oh how wonderful, what a way to ease the stress on us." Peggy mutters to herself as she debates wether undoing their victim's shirt to check for a scorch mark was appropriate at this time, finally deciding under no circumstances it was, especially seeing she wasn't a crime scene investigator or anything of the sort.  
"This guy was considered scum by the majority of people he knew, narrowing down suspects will take you an eternity, half the city could be responsible. Half of them will want to claim it's their doing. It'll take almost too long for it to be worth it." Another officer chips in, met by a deadening glare.  
"Everything possible will be done to find the killer responsible for this crime." Peggy huffs, turning her back to exit the warehouse and wait until the body is removed from the scene. Out of the corner of her eye she sees something, a shadow at best, but she turns to see an area that couldn't be more exposed. There couldn't be anyone or anything hiding, no matter how hard they tried. Peggy rubs her eyes a little with confusion and exits with her jacket thrown over her shoulder. Moments later Sousa and the other officers leave too, with the crime scene officers following behind, removing the body of the wealthy banker under a sheet.

 

A slender figure drops down from an awkward rut high up in a dark corner of the warehouse. Red curls are strewn at odd angles due to the swift ascent to avoid Agent Carter's line of sight. It couldn't be known that their Russian assassin was a woman, not yet at least. She runs her fingers through her wayward curls to gain some sort of control over them. There is a smile on her palid face, not crazed in any way. Controlled. Maybe she's scheming but if she is there's more of another interest there aswell. Something calculated. Something personal.


	2. Chapter 2

Post-war New York feels worlds away from how life has been for the last few years, for everyone but especially for Peggy. Everything changed in her world within days. She's gone from being well respected and almost feared whilst working along side Steve Rogers, straight to being shoved behind a desk every day doing mindless paperwork and having nobody; well no one except Angie.

The early morning winter air is crisp with coldness and the smell of fumes chokes Peggy a fraction as she makes her way to work bundled up in a thick coat. The sun has just begun to rise and casts a pastel glow across the city. The streets are almost empty at this hideous time of morning, and the people who are there, looking through groggy eyes, barely even manage to pass the time of day. Peggy tugs at her coat collar and puts her head down against the wind until she collides with someone walking in the opposite direction.   
"Sorry, sorry!" The passerby says quickly in what Peggy guesses to be a more central States accent. The girl is blushing slightly against her pale skin, made almost snow white by the early morning winter mist. The majority of her tidy curls, which are nearing on flame red, are bundled into a hat with only a few clinging around her cheeks.   
"It's no problem," Peggy smiles, adjusting her coat whilst discretely checking her pockets to simply assure herself nothing is missing. "I'm sorry too, sorry to put you out."   
The flame haired girl just smiles and walks away. Peggy can't help notice the grace with which she walks, with care and precision, much like a prowling cat. Peggy shakes her head and grits her teeth on suddenly remembering that Dooley is likely to have it in for her since she didn't keep her promise at the crime scene the previous day.

"Carter! Does that pretty little head of yours not understand simple instructions?" Dooley seethes as Peggy slowly walks across the office towards his door, thanking whoever it is that is responsible for the office still being almost empty so she avoids much of the possible embarrassment. "Which part of talk to no one did you not comprehend?"   
"Sir, the body of this gentleman was left still lying on its side, I'm not going to say nothing about that." Peggy calmly responds, a fire slowly burning within her, difficult to contain at this early hour.  
"It's not your job." He snaps simply, raising his eyebrows in discontent.  
"I'm far more capable than I feel you realise. I don't need your protection, I can protect myself." Peggy has lost the ability to be passive, being on an assignment for her actual employer had been an experience and code breaking and analysis just doesn't cut it.  
"I cannot let you out into the field again, you don't even have an issued gun anymore. We thought you wouldn't-" Dooley begins before Peggy interrupts him.  
"We? Who's we?" She cuts in briefly, shooting her boss a condemning look.  
"It was a general consensus that now the war is over you aren't needed in the field, and nobody was sure if you were safe... what with everything that happened." Dooley skirts around the question, but is speaking with an honesty Peggy hadn't expected.  
"Losing Steve, losing Captain America, was a loss for everyone but they can all be trusted and not me? At no point was I assessed to see if I was fit to be in the field, I was just back immediately benched!" Peggy's voice is raising slightly, her nerves on edge and her breathing quickened.  
"You had more of a... personal relationship with him than the rest of us, you can see why the assumption was made." Roger Dooley is now sitting with his arms broadly folded across his chest, leaning forward a fraction onto the desk.  
"We cannot simply act on assumptions, isn't that just basic protocol? Or doesn't that apply to women in the workplace?" Peggy manages to quell her anger enough to remain calm and civil about the situation, but only just.  
"We were trying to do what's best for you..." He must realise his mistake as his words trail off into silence, or maybe he was anticipating Peggy's comment.  
"Why didn't someone simply speak to me? Even assess me if they had to but back-benching me with no idea what's best for me just isn't going to work any longer." She methodically explains, the steadiness of her voice fluctuating slightly.  
"Carter we cannot sort this now, but I'll look into it." There is still an honesty in his voice, a genuine sense of promise in his words.  
"Thank you, sir. The field is where I'm the most use to you," she replies carefully, in her head she continues, 'in the field is the only place I feel safe' but she daren't allow those words to leave her mouth. With a simple nod, Peggy turns on her heels and goes and sits back at her desk and waits for something mildly interesting to come up for her to do. God knows how long that'll be.

"I hear you think you're cut out for the field, Carter." Jack Thompson crows as he hangs his hat up with some sort of childish flourish.  
"Well, you have heard right." Peggy responds stoically, standing from her desk immediately, seething inwardly at the cheek that Dooley must have.  
"I'll believe it when I see it." He smirks, that vile kind of smirk that only ever seems to draw in desperate women and easily impressed business people.  
"Good, I'm glad because hopefully you'll be seeing it soon." Comes her calm, steady reply laced with an air of falsity as she tries to keep her least favourite person sweet.  
"Hmm." is the simple hum of Thompson's answer as he walks away, that gruelling smile still plastered on thick. The mere thought of it makes Peggy scoff with irritation. She buries herself in the paperwork from yesterday's crime scene and instantly wants to bundle it all up and throw it away due to its untidiness. Why can't they just keep things filed properly? Surely it isn't that hard? No wonder they can't see the minor details that connect these cases, they just can't see anything around here.

After not being invited for drinks with the team again, as always, Peggy gets off earlier than usual; 7:30pm positively indicates a half day in Peggy's world nowadays. Marvelling at how dark it is outside again, she tugs her coat collars tight and steadily plods over to the cafeteria to wait for Angie. Squinting through the unnatural light that the New York streets are playing home to, she thinks she hears something but soon dismisses it as she cannot possibly hear a thing over the whir of engines and generators surrounding her. She stops for a moment and looks around, checking if she could see anything that could be responsible for the sound. Nothing. Her chest feels tight, as though it's being gripped by an unthinkable force. She clenches her fists and feels her manicured nails dig into the palms of her hands. She stands momentarily, checks around her once more and then continues walking, her chest still tight and her breathing rapid, but relaxing her tightly clasped fists in the meantime.   
As she reaches the cafeteria she straightens her coat and fiddles with her hair and is ever so grateful to feel there is a warmth to the peculiar little rest stop. It seems rather empty today, maybe due to the earliness of the hour compared to usual. Peggy finds a seat and throws her coat down in front of her, takes out a cigarette and removes a match from the book on the table. Taking a moment to just clasp it between her teeth she finally strikes the match and smiles, lighting it with ease and shaking out the match. It's been a while since she's smoked, it's not the same now she has to pay for them, it's not the same now she's smoking alone. She takes a drag and slowly exhales, watching the tendrils of smoke rise to the ceiling through her rich brown eyes. Lowering her hand to the ashtray she taps away the ash and sighs, then within seconds the cigarette is crumpled into the glass as much as possible. Another unnecessary thing, just another reminder. The butt in the tray has a hint of scarlet on it from Peggy's lipstick and she pushes the ashtray away in a sort of temper. Lowering her head to lean on her hands she sighs, a deep melancholy sigh, and sits like this for a while. 

"Peggy. Peg, c'mon." comes the distant sounding voice of her friend, it wasn't until she felt the poke of a finger in her back did the words register.  
"Yep." was her muffled response, as she lifted her head off her hands and came to the realisation that she'd fallen asleep.  
"Sweetie, were you asleep? It's not even 9 o'clock yet." Angie's occasionally harsh accent brings Peggy out of her sleep fully.   
"I didn't get to bed until late last night and I was out horribly early this morning..." She begins to recall as Angie sits opposite her. This wasn't strictly a lie so her human lie detector of a friend wasn't picking up on her half truths.  
"Boss has been digging out the Christmas decorations ready to put up, have a real go of it with what we've got now the war is over, he says." Angie props her chin up with a fist and smiles at Peggy excitedly.  
"Hmm, that's nice. It's too early to be thinking about Christmas." She almost sighs but manages to keep her expression more unreadable if anything.  
"It's already December, Peg, when isn't too early?" Her friend asks with shock, willing that she does in fact get an answer from her.  
"Who knows, this year maybe not at all." Peggy mumbles, not even loud enough for her friend to hear, then adds louder, "Christmas just isn't my thing."  
"I'm not judging, I'm sure you've got your reasons..." Angie begins to clock on why her friend is so disinterested in the festivities and almost wants to get up and leave the table out of shame. "It's been what now... Six months?"   
"Seven actually, seven months." The words gall Peggy, they feel like poison on her tongue. How has time moved on so much? How has so long passed since Steve Rogers died?  
"It's been seven months, you've been away from the war for almost as long and you're still sat moping around. It's not going to help you, darl." Angie says with kindness but when it makes it to Peggy's ears her words are like daggers.  
"Where else am I supposed to go? All my colleagues are arseholes." She almost laughs in disgust but can't quite muster it.  
"That's the way the world is, that's how the world has always been for some of us," Angie retorts, more harshly than she maybe intended but Peggy sees her point.  
"Christmas just isn't my thing." She repeats again, with a slight laugh this time to lighten the deafening silence that has formed.  
"I'll make Christmas your thing Miss Carter, you'll see." Angie smiles, her stark white teeth gleam in the cafeteria's harsh lighting.  
"If you say so but how are you planning on doing that?" She trepidatiously asks, never really being able to predict her friend's thoughts.  
"Dancing always helps. The hall is putting up its biggest tree trying to bring folks together now the war's done, a lot of people aren't in the mood for Christmas this year."  
Peggy swallows and feels her nails dig into her palm for the second time tonight. Tears prick the backs of her eyes like swords. Her head is spinning but from the corner of her eye she sees someone's flame red curls stand up from a table near the back exit with a man in close pursuit. Keeping her own thoughts at bay she swallows hard again to steady her breathing and regains her words.  
"I've just seen someone I think I know, I'll be back in soon." Peggy quickly rattles off to Angie as she grabs her coat and tugs it on, leaving her bag by her friend's feet. 

Angie's words now pushed momentarily to the back of her mind, she quells her muddle of emotion and heads straight towards the exit into the grotty alleyway. The cold winter air hits her immediately and she barely even flinches, ignoring everything except looking for the flame haired girl. For a moment she thinks she's hallucinated her, it wouldn't be a shock, but then a crash a fraction further down the alley and further into the darkness catches her attention. Gritting her teeth, Peggy begins to walk quietly. Silence. Behind a stack of packing crates Peggy finds the redhead pinning an angered looking man down on to the hard concrete with just a knee and an elbow. She takes a fleeting second to smile at this and then alters her frame of mind. Noticing her other arm is ready to strike, Peggy thinks it wise to announce herself.  
"Well, hello there." She carefully calls, beginning to slowly approach.  
"Got your lady friends fighting your corner, have you?" The rather incapacitated man dares to say and before he even manages to stop speaking the redhead's fist collides with the square of his jaw. About to strike a second time out of sheer frustration, Peggy intervenes and almost lifts the redhead off the now slightly disorientated man still sprawled on the floor. As he starts to stand, Peggy stands directly in front of him so she can feel his hurried breathing on her.   
"Stay away, mister. Stay away from all of us." She seethes as she pushes him away down the alleyway and watches him turn around befuddled then continue.

"I had that." The redhead sighs, after noting she should probably have started with some way of showing she recognised her or something of the sort.  
"That's what I was worried about." Peggy smirks, feeling what she thinks is a buzz of adrenaline from her act of intervention.  
"Ahh, I'm not dangerous. He just wouldn't take the hint." She grumbles and then looks at Peggy with confusion, "Why d'you step in?"  
"Instinct." Comes her immediate, automatic reply a little too quickly.  
"Where from?" She asks, short replies make hiding her accent easier.  
"The army, it stays with you," She almost whispers, taking out another cigarette and lighting it, taking a single drag and passing it on to her companion. A nod of thanks was the response as she takes the cigarette and clenches it between her lips. Quiet coughing begins almost immediately and the redhead grimaces.  
"Not a smoker then I see." Peggy observes, smiling slightly now and suddenly aware that she somehow came to consider herself one.  
"No, not at all. That come from the army too?" She asks, seeming genuinely intrigued.  
"Hmm, something like that." Peggy hums, becoming aware she's been out here a while now and also notices a small fluctuation in her acquaintance's accent. "Well it was... interesting seeing you again so soon." She adds as she turns to head back inside.  
"My name is Nancy, by the way. Nancy Rushman." The redhead calls, having already choses the most American of we aliases, with a quirk of her head and a smile that really shouldn't have caught Peggy's eyes.   
Nancy. Peggy plays with the name a few times on her tongue to get it to stick in her memory and then smiles.  
"Peggy... Carter." She adds with a wave and without even a look back into the alley she goes back inside.

"Oh, I know Peggy. I know." The redhead whispers knowingly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, things have been hectic and writing has been hard whilst the show is airing because I don't want to copy the plot line. I don't know how often I'll update due to the impending doom of my exams in May but I'll try.   
> I thought I'd treat you to some valentine's day antics this time. I hope you like it :)

Christmas came and went and Peggy Carter avoided the dance. Strictly speaking, Peggy Carter avoided everyone as much as possible. It wasn't only Christmas which passed, January passed by too. The Russian assassin has been keeping a low profile, little did anyone know that that was because her goals were different now. February came and so did the still freezing temperatures. Going to work and back to her room is about as much Peggy has mustered, avoiding everyone at The Griffith... everyone except Angie.

The wrap of knuckles on her door stops Peggy in her tracks.   
"Who is it?" She calls, rather foolishly considering there's only one person it's likely to be.  
"It's me." Angie replies, her accent making it all too clear it's her.  
"Give me a moment, Ange." She frantically exclaims as she throws her books and papers into the bottom of her wardrobe, covers over the hole in the wall with the painting and pulls on her dressing gown over her clothes and goes over to answer the door. As the door clicks open, Angie's face is aglow with a grin. Her heart momentarily skipping its beat at the fact her dear friend's hair is gently hanging at her shoulders, slightly tousled. It looks as though she's just awoke, but Angie saw something in that which she simply couldn't understand.  
"Heya English, you look dreadful." Are the first words to leave her mouth, a little accidentally but not entirely. Angie isn't one to mince her words by any means, especially when she's nervous.  
"Charming. I've got the mind to leave you out here." Peggy laughs, nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe.  
"You wouldn't dare, English." Is her reply, cocking her head slightly to match her smirk.  
"Oh come in then, I don't have the patience to be lurking in my own doorway." She smiles, waving her friend in with an outstretched arm.   
"You, my friend, are coming out with me tonight." Angie informs her, poking a finger in her shoulder.  
"And why would you think that?"  
"It's Valentine's Day, there is absolutely no way you're staying cooped up in this room reading or whatever else it is you do."  
"Oh but Ange it's been a long day." She begins to protest, knowing the chances of her winning on this account are incredibly slim, she loses all ability to argue when she's faced with Angie Martinelli.  
"You're going to get all made up and come out with the girls and have fun and come and get drunk and awkwardly entertain gentlemen with the new friends you've made."  
"Am I really? That sounds fascinating." She responds drily, sarcasm shining through above all else.  
"Yes you are and seeing as your arm or leg isn't hanging off you've got no excuses." Angie quips, guiding Peggy towards the mirror, sitting her down in front of it. Grabbing a brush from the dresser, she begins to rake it through the chestnut locks which she had thought were tousled but were far better described as matted.  
"Oh give it here, I'd like some hair to actually remain in my head please Ange." Peggy laughs, tugging the brush from the hand of her friend and carefully teasing at the several awful knots she had created by anxiously running her fingers through her hair. Once the knots were tidied she gave the brush back to Angie and simply sat back. It would not be fair to say that she relaxed, as to relax she would have had to have switched off and that is just something utterly unheard of for Peggy Carter. However, before she knows it her hair is teased and primped into the tidiest do it has seen in weeks, thanks to Angie's nimble hands.  
"Come on, English. Let's pick out something that'll attract you some men." Angie laughs, immediately regretting her words on her behalf and on Peggy's, suddenly recalling previous misdemeanours on her part to do with her friend's love life.  
"Oh Angie, I attract plenty of men except generally they're either putting me down or they're trying to kill me." She smirks but there's a clear sincerity to her voice that Angie knows all too well means not to push an issue. Angie knows all too well she's thinking of Steve, which was all the more reason to go out tonight.  
"Let's make you look swell though English. It's proven it'll make you feel better!" Angie's smile was bright enough to light the room and was already improving Peggy's mood momentarily.  
"I cannot disagree with that, you are the expert in this case after all." Peggy replies, Angie unsure whether this is meant sarcastically or not, again falling victim to her friend's most British habit.   
Moments later through the clink and clang of coat hangers, the entire contents of her small wardrobe is strewn across her bed.  
"Angie, this is utterly unnecessary. I can look at clothes whilst they're IN the wardrobe, that's what it's there for." Peggy groans yet laughs at her dear friend's enthusiasm.  
"Of course it's necessary! The costume is one of the most important things to an actress." Angie whines, throwing a few hangers back into the wardrobe.  
"I am not an actress though..." Peggy retorts, raising a perfect eyebrow at her smiling friend.  
"You're much more of an actress than I am... the whole world is your stage, Peg." Angie dramatically replies like the actress she truly is.  
"You do have a point there but..."   
"English, you talk too much!" Angie quips, picking up what she considers to be her favourite dress her friend owns and passing it to her.  
"Wearing this then am I?" Peggy laughs, not surprised by the fact Angie had chosen the violet dress and it would have been what she'd have chosen herself anyway.  
After pulling on her dress and doing up her low heeled pumps which glimmer in the light, she touches up her make-up and pulls on her long coat whilst Angie is still fiddling around with a single strand of hair which simply will not stay curled.  
"Ready, English?" She calls back now as she leans out of Peggy's window to pull it closed.  
"Ready as I'll ever be, Ange." Peggy replies, a melancholy sadness to her voice as she picks at the delicate stitching around the cuffs of her coat. Valentine's Day hasn't existed for the past years for her but apparently it still kept a lowkey hold on the women at The Griffith throughout the war, women like Angie Martinelli. Valentine's Day dances, who'd have thought that in the space of two years she could have gone from being part of the war effort and working alongside the Howling Commandos to attending a Valentine's ball. She didn't know how to carry herself or how to interact or how to disguise her disinterest. 

The ladies take the streetcar through the strangely busy New York streets, observing dapper gentlemen with their woman on their arm as they shield each other from the falling rain. Peggy tries her hardest to avoid Angie's eye contact because she knows she truly wants to enjoy this evening and her apprehensions will ruin that.  
"Here we are!" Angie excitably exclaims, prodding Peggy in the shoulder as she does so. A gentle smile forms on the Brit's lips but there's no reply. She gets out of the streetcar and hands the money over to the driver and waits for Angie before they enter.

"Hey ladies!" Angie calls across from the door, waving her fingers nonchalantly in the direction of the large collection of Griffith girls. Peggy closes her eyes momentarily, willing herself so desperately to try to enjoy the night.   
"C'mon English, let's go and get a round in." Angie whispers, bringing her friend back to reality in one sharp jolt. The bartender looks them up and down and Peggy feels her haunches hitch but she smiles sweetly and orders two bottles of wine for them all and a brandy for herself to have now.   
"It's fine Ange, I'll pay." Peggy assures her as she gets her purse out, after all it's technically Howard Stark's money and he has more than enough to spare. She grabs the tumbler and swirls the one cube of ice around slowly and downs the warming, copper liquid in one swift motion and slides the glass along the bar again.   
She's surrounded by the girls now who are sipping at the wine like it's going out of fashion. Some go off to dance with men they've only just met, others including Angie peruse the dance hall hoping for a gentleman to sweep them on to the dancefloor but it's harder now the war is done, men are in... well, high demand again. Peggy on the other hand is sat watching her friend's flaunt themselves playfully until she feels a hand on her waist from behind. She doesn't look. She doesn't turn. She simply grabs his wrist tightly with her own hand. She clasps it tightly until the guy exclaims some expletive or other.  
"Sorry love, you looked a bit lonely. Thought I'd show you a good time." The man complains, falling on Peggy's ears like poison.  
"Well if I wanted your attention I would look for it, thank you." She retorts rather too bitterly as she turns to face him fully now.  
"Looking like that it's hard not to attract attention." He dares to reply, smiling as though he's just spoken some wonderful proverb or other.  
"Oh please, I think that's quite enough now. I'm sure there's plenty of girls who are looking for a guy just like you here right now, but I'm not one of them." Peggy manages to clamour out eventually after ensuring she didn't sound too rude because that's something she prides herself on. The young man walks away and shoots an unimpressed glare in her direction, to which she replies by rolling her eyes.  
"Hey English, what was all that about?" Angie calls from the edge of the dancefloor where she is trying to catch the attention of anyone she can.  
"Oh just another guy who doesn't respect boundaries." She smiles sweetly with a look of fury glimmering in the depths of her dark eyes.  
"We can't be choosy!" One of the other girls retorts, touching up her lipstick.  
"We can be whatever we want! We can be as choosy as we want! Just because the war is over doesn't mean we just go back to usual." Peggy half shouts and half mumbles, unsure who she's even directing this comment towards.  
"Well let's just say not all of us can afford to be as picky as you can, lady." Someone Peggy hasn't even conversed with before now informs her.  
"Men aren't looking for a girl like me." Peggy whispers to herself, the words falling strangely off her tongue like a foreign language.  
"Come on English, the guys will love you... and we all wanna know if you can dance!" Angie smiles innocently, her childish outlook on the situation almost confusing Peggy.  
"I've got to go and... powder my nose." Peggy replies, Angie meeting her with a knowing nod of recognition.  
"You're not allowed to go hiding off in the toilets though English, knowing you you'll escape through the window!" Angie laughs but when Peggy meets her with a dissatisfied glare as she turns on her heels and stalks off she knows she really meant she had to go. Angie can't help feeling bad, she knows this evening cannot be easy for her. Peggy's breathing is hitched in her throat again, her heart racing and clawing at her ribs to be set free. Her clammy palms being prodded by sharp, manicured nails. Why are there so many people in this bloody dance hall? Where is the bathroom? Just as Peggy is going to give up and just go outside and brave the cold she spots the toilet door. Almost crashing through it; she struggles to slow her breathing. 

The anger at herself which is building up inside is overwhelming. Feeling slightly light headed now she steadies herself by leaning on the sinks. Classy. Staring straight on into the mirror she sees herself and beneath all this makeup she realises how broken she's allowed herself to become as she suppresses all aspects of herself she prided herself on during the war. Her world crumbled around her and she still hasn't adjusted to it. After what feels like an eternity she manages to slow her breathing back to normal and clip back up a curl which has come loose. As she turns away from the mirror momentarily she hears a noise behind her and spins on her toes. She recognises the woman immediately. That crimson hair is impossible to mistake for anyone else. Nancy Rushman. Suddenly, Peggy can feel her heart beating rapidly again. This is different though. This is strange indeed.  
"Why hello there Peggy Carter." Nancy smiles, slowly waving her fingers as she leans up against the furthest sink in the meantime. The way her name sounds from this fascinating woman's lips makes Peggy feel almost dizzy.  
"Fancy seeing you here." Peggy struggles to reply, feeling her stomach knot up as Nancy brushes her crimson hair over one shoulder now.  
"What are the chances, right?" Comes her careful reply, "How's your evening so far?"  
"It's... Eventful. It's getting better though." Peggy daringly responds, wishing she was still wearing her coat to somehow shield herself from this entire situation.  
"I may say the same, maybe." Nancy carefully replies, slowly forming her words, allowing herself chance to feel how they shape on her tongue. She takes a step closer, a sink basin closer to Peggy now. Her heart still thudding against her ribs and the ache in her stomach is doing anything but easing and Peggy can hardly comprehend what's happening. Nancy is slowly stepping closer and closer to Peggy as she stands leaning against the marble sink basins. She blinks and the next time she opens them Nancy is stood in front of her. Her porcelain skin as flawless as Peggy could ever imagine and her fiery hair such a stark contrast. Peggy is holding her breath now and it truly takes a special kind of person to silence her, yet here we are. Porcelain fingers on freckled cheeks, tracing the sharp jawline of the Brit. Her heart in her throat now, pounding. The tension in the air seems to be almost unbearable as Peggy leans against the sinks to ground herself. She cannot let this happen. She simply cannot. Oh but she wants it to happen so intensely. Suddenly there's nothing running through her mind, just the ache of excitement in her stomach as their lips clash together. She wants time to stop and for this moment to last forever but she of all people knows anyone could walk in, anyone could see. She wants to ignore the hands around her waist but her pounding heart rate makes it impossible. She wants to ignore the teeth biting carefully at her rouged lips and just give in to it but she can't. She just can't.   
"No. I'm sorry, I can't." She manages to whisper pushing the spectacular body of crimson haired Nancy Rushman away from her momentarily.  
"Well we both know that's a lie." She chimes, smiling menacingly in her direction.  
"No, it's not a lie. A lie would be that I don't want to." The words cascaded from Peggy's lips before she could do anything to stop them, instantaneously followed by a blush creeping across her cheeks.  
"I see then, Peggy Carter." Another smile, cutting into Peggy's heart like a dagger.  
"I... I have to go, I fear my friends will think I have abandoned them." Peggy stutters as she turns back to the mirror and runs a slender finger around her lips to tidy up her lipstick. Nancy Rushman simply smirks and pushes her fiery hair behind her left ear as she watches the fascinating woman walk away through the door.

"Hey Carter, thought you'd done a disappearing act on us." Laughs one of the many Griffith girls now congregated around the tables, at least one more round more drunk than when she had left.  
"No, just needed time to... compose myself." She smiles wryly, Angie catching a mysterious glint in her friend's eye.  
"Miss. Carter?" Comes the voice of a gentleman behind her, carrying a silver tray on which is balanced a single crimson red rose.  
"Yes, that's me." After a moment's hesitation Peggy manages to reply through her confusion.  
"Someone left this for you." He adds, handing the tray over to her as she lifts the rose between two fingers and the folded card in the other hand.  
"Thank you." Peggy quietly responds, as her friends whoop and whisper to each other about her secret admirer. Everyone except for Angie, who is sat with baited breath wanting to know who the person is that thinks they're worthy of her best friend.  
"What does the card say then?" Angie prompts after a long moment of silence on Peggy's part.  
"It's just initials," this wasn't strictly a lie.  
"Do you know whose they are?" Angie asks excitably.  
"No, no I don't." Was her simple response to avoid rousing Angie's suspicions.  
She reads over the card to herself now, 'We will meet again. N.R x' in a strange mixture of cursive and printed style handwriting. A warm smile dances briefly on her lips until she slides the card carefully into her pocket, cajoling herself for letting herself feel this way. She feels an odd sense of guilt towards the situation she's allowed to arise. She feels around in the pocket of her dress and feels a small sphere at the bottom of it. Clasping her fingers around it she carefully takes it out for a moment and smiles at it knowingly and puts it back. A tracking device. Isn't it nice when you find another person who is absolutely not who they appear to be? Peggy doesn't know whether to be alarmed or honoured but either way she'll keep up the pretence of not knowing it's there. She'll allow the story to pan out as her recent acquaintance has envisioned, or at least partly anyway. She isn't going to push away the chance to find something for herself. She isn't going to turn away a chance to prove her abilities either. This Nancy Rushman, if that is truly her name Peggy thinks, presents her with such a variety of options that she cannot ruin that. Above all, Peggy desperately wants to be able to be in control of this situation because until now there's been nothing other than seemingly chance encounters, when in actual fact she's been more out of control than she could have ever imagined. Noticing this tracker means she's one step ahead now, slightly more in control now, slightly more comfortable with the situation.  
"Come on English, not all of us have secret admirers to fantasise about." Angie taunts her playfully, holding her arm out to her. "Care for a dance?"  
"Why, thank you Miss Martinelli." Peggy theatrically replies, allowing her friend to guide her to the dancefloor where she's taken into hold almost immediately. After a moment of clumsy waltzing Peggy catches something out of the corner of her eye. She catches a flash of crimson and a glint of pearly white teeth as her not-so-secret admirer smiles her way and taps her nose knowingly. Angie calls "Happy Valentine's" to all the girls on the dancefloor and all Peggy can think is "A happy Valentine's Day indeed." as she rolls the tracking device between her fingers with an air of satisfaction. Very happy indeed.


End file.
